


Inside Job

by TwoBrokenMirrors



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: But Knock Out is, It may not be rape but it IS violation pls be aware, Nonsexual violation I guess?, Scene Rewrite, Smokey is not having fun, Spoilers for TF:P season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBrokenMirrors/pseuds/TwoBrokenMirrors
Summary: Transformers: Prime season two episode 23, Inside Job, has a scene where Knock Out sticks his hand right into Smokescreen using the phase shifter. For some reason this pinged me so hard I had to write out that scene from Smokescreen's POV. And here it is. All dialogue is from the show, all of Smokey's internal monologue I made up.





	

“Yet another of these identical relics?”

It would be an understatement to say that Megatron sounds displeased. Despite everything, there's a sharp little zing of satisfaction about that. You may be strapped to a medical table, awaiting who knows what at the hands of ' _cons_ , but you're still Smokescreen, and you're not about to _not_ enjoy frustrating _Megatron_.

And hey, this has really  _proved_ you're special! That you have a destiny! Gotta be pleased about that, right?

...So long as the destiny doesn't end in Knock Out's surgery.

“Remove it swiftly.”

The order is terse, but from the way Knock Out's face lights up it's what he's been waiting for.

“With pleasure.”

...You hadn't known he could shift his hand into a fragging  _sawblade._ Funny thing for the guys back at base to forget to mention, huh?

“I do so resent a finish flashier than my own,” he adds in a smug little purr, and you want to leap up and _destroy_ that finish, you want to claw and punch and _bite_ him, you want to _ruin him-_

You want to run. Might as well admit it. You jerk at the restraints as he brings the whirring blade downwards, milking every last drop of threat out of it he can get; it'd be funny, how over-the-top threatening he's being, if that threat wasn't about to end up with your energon all over the floor, your circuits and wires spilling out of you- this isn't how it's meant to end, you were supposed to  _make a name for yourself-_

“Ha! Made you squirm!”

He's stopped. Just centimetres above your plating, he's stopped, and he's grinning at you, and you feel you would be well within your rights to purge your last meal all over him.

You feel like you're going to. Your fuel tank is churning in a way it never did when you were fighting free, not even when you were surrounded by Genericons trying to get the Star Sabre- but then you're not free now, are you? You're trapped, at the mercy of a sleek red  _devil_ while Megatron watches over his shoulder as though you're nothing but an inconvenient lab specimen. Which you might as well be, right? The important thing was never  _you_ , after all. It was what was  _inside_ you.

Knock Out is speaking again. He's brought his other arm into view, and he's wearing- hey! That's yours! That's  _your_ signature weapon, Ratchet  _gave_ it to you, it's  _yours-_ he passes his hand through his arm once or twice, and he's still grinning at you.

“Trippy,” he remarks, cheerful, fascinated by this new toy. He stamps twice on the ground, and brightens again. “And intuitive! Proper grounding ensures its users won't phase through the _floor-”_

“I said _swiftly_.” That's Megatron again. He's not pleased, and you don't like the way your whole frame chills with terror at the tone. Come _on_ , you're Smokescreen, you spit in Megatron's face without even thinking-

Knock Out's hand is _inside you_. It's _right inside you_ , rummaging through your internals with casual unconcern and it doesn't _hurt_ , okay, it doesn't _hurt_ at all but you can _feel_ him nonetheless, you can feel the way he rubs his fingers over every component with ungentle touches, and the urge to void your tanks of everything you've eaten right back to the cycle you first came online is almost overwhelming.

You vomit words, instead.

“Get your stinkin' hand out of my gears!”

It does nothing, of course; Knock Out ignores you, and to Megatron you're nothing worth listening to anyway. But maybe you feel a little better, a little more _you_ despite those fingers continuing their quest, searching and probing and poking right down into the very depths of you.

“Mmm- aaand... got you!”

The hand grips tight on something, and _pulls_ , and _now_ it hurts, oh it hurts and you arch despite yourself, dragged as far off the table as you can go with your ankles and wrists straining at the restraints as Knock Out unceremoniously yanks the Omega Key from you with a few sharp tugs.

And then it's over.

If there are sparks in your optics there are surely only a few. It's _over_. It doesn't matter that it seems like there's a stranger's hand in your torso still, it doesn't _matter_ that there's a stinging _ache_ in your joints where you were pulled off the table, it doesn't matter that you haven't got a _clue_ what they might want from you now, it matters even less that you're starting to wish you'd taken Arcee's advice- it's _over_ , and now you can start thinking about how to escape. How to bust out in the finest style, and make Optimus Prime _proud_ of you.

You can. You _have to_. You cling to this thought with everything you have left; it _is_ everything you have left.

So when Megatron demands “Tell me the function of these relics,” you know what to say.

“Doorstops? Shavers? Bling? Beats me!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read horribly unhealthy Knock Out/Smokescreen into this, go right ahead. I am.


End file.
